Month: April 2014

Swim CampHigh on Endorphins

It is with some trepidation that I sign up for a weekend swim camp at Cobham Hall, Kent. Organised by my Out to Swim mates Lucille and Lizzie, it promises four swim sessions in over forty-eight hours. I like to swim three times a week leaving at least a day for my body to recover, repair and prepare for the next onslaught.  At sixty-two I’m in the ‘yes’ to experience phase of life with a hefty NO on hand only if absolutely necessary. 

            I resort to Google Maps to look at the area and plan my travel arrangements.  Sole Street seems to be the closest station and I plan to take my bike and cycle in a leisurely fashion up to the hall a few miles away.  Taking a bike requires leaving London before 4pm, so with all the times and changes on a piece of paper, I set off.  What could go wrong?  I alter my plan and get on an earlier train at Peckham Rye which isn’t going to Bromley South so I spend several hours changing trains and heaving the pannier laden bike over bridges to different platforms – still arriving before most of the others.

Cobham Hall is stunning.  Originating in the Elizabethan era, with a Georgian front stuck on, it was the seat of the Darnleys and is now an independent girls’ school started in the 60s.  The leaves are not quite out on the trees as I cycle down the driveway past vast swathes of daffodils.

We are not accommodated in the main building but in Brooke House around the back.  This is a 70s building opened by the then minister for Education and Science, Margaret Thatcher, but it is right next to the 25m swimming pool.

We’re divided into ‘Swim Camp’ and ‘Lessons’ groups, the latter comprised of ‘Ducklings’ (don’t ask) and ‘Development’.  Our first session is 7.30 – 9.00pm with our coach for the weekend, Martin.  The pool is in a sort of glass shed and has an ingenious plastic lining which solves the problem of leaky tiles.  There’s a yellow hosepipe across each end as a marker for turning, but I can’t see well enough to tumble and when I do, in the cloudy water, end up in the next lane or crash into Emily who is leading.  Eventually I get the hang of it and I become less of a hazard. The schedule has been dictated by head coach Michelle and this session includes a hefty kick set. I’m a bit surprised at the end as it hasn’t felt harder than our normal ninety minutes sessions at the Marshal Street pool, but my legs are cramping all over.  I have to sit on the end of the pool for a minute until they stop convulsing so I can stand up and stagger back to Brooke House.  We’ve all brought post swim food and I assemble a tuna salad.  Gillian has brought fantastic scones and Michel, a delicious home made mackerel pâté.  We’ve all been instructed by our leader, Lizzie, to bring cake, but the ‘Ducklings’ have covered up the cake so we won’t eat it until they finish their session at 10pm.  There’s beer and some of us have brought wine so we all have a jolly time, but no midnight feasting as we’re all too tired and go to bed.  I take a couple of Ibuprofen to help with the pain, but the bed is too narrow for a great sleep.

Saturday morning and it’s an hour long session before breakfast.  I stock up with a banana and two cups of tea and am surprised to find the swim completely manageable, no cramps or pain in evidence. We later find out that the plan has been modified.  I may get though this weekend after all. A quick nap follows (I’m old enough to nap when I feel like it) followed by a walk.  Everyone else is doing a circuit training session in the gym lead by Lizzie, but I’m conserving energy for the two hour session in the afternoon.  I’d seen what looked like a grand tree-lined approach on Google Maps and went of to explore, enjoy the daffodils and check out how far to the village pub.

The grand approach hasn’t really happened as the trees are far too young and there’s not really a drive way.  By the time I get back, most people are relaxing and I join some of the women who are watching Alex and Emily playing tennis.

How can they have the energy to do that?  Meals are in the old house and lunch is tasty pasta and baked potatoes.  We’re all carbed up for the afternoon session, but first I have to walk it all off through the gardens and woods of the estate.  The ‘Ducklings’ are first and we swim at 4 – 6pm.  I’ve never done a two hour swim before, but Martin has it all planned and we are surprised how quickly it goes.  Dinner is at 6.30 so it seems that we swim, eat, swim and eat.  I have no inclination to walk or even cycle to the pub in the evening and in fact my head is in such a strange place and my body isn’t hurting so I deduce that I’m high on endorphin. Endorphins are related to Morphine and are produced by the body as a result of strenuous exercise.  They work to counteract pain and also in older people, stimulate mental activity.  That’s why I’m buzzing, I won’t need Ibuprofen tonight.  The remains of the cake, beer and wine are consumed and I leave the hard core to play a game called ‘I’ve never done …’

Sunday morning before brunch is only an hour and I feel my shoulders about to give way on a pull set. I’ve had this body quite a long time and know what it can do, so time to just drop out of a couple of lengths.  It’s been a great weekend and we’ve avoided lane rage in lane 3. Awards are given out at brunch – not quite sure what they are for, but Michael & I get a joint award, we think for being old and getting through it.  Time to dash though as I’ve got a train to catch.

It’s now Tuesday and the endorphins are wearing off – need to get back to the pool.

GLLAM 2014.  There’s a ring about it reminiscent of London 2012, same venue eighteen months on.  It’s Saturday the 29^th March and the Gay & Lesbian London Aquatic Meet is happening at the Aquatic Centre in the ex Olympic Park and I’m swimming.

I’m normally a bit nervous before a race meeting and have been studying the start sheets working out who is in my heats, their times and age group and how fast I have to swim to win medals.  All this, plus the sense of occasion, swimming in the same pool as all those heroic swimmers has me walking around the house in a demented state.  Fortunately my best mate Ros from Hastings has come up to cheer me on, so I have to be a bit sane.

We get to the park entrance too early and sit in glorious sunshine outside The Cow Pub, waiting for family member Geraldine.  She is also going to cheer for Out to Swim. In 2012 it was complicated, going through security and ticket checks then crossing endless bridges to get to the pool.  This time it’s easy.  Just walk a short distance from the pub to the pool.  The transformation is impressive.  The huge wings which accommodated hundreds of seats have gone, replaced by elegant windows east and west revealing a fabulous piece of architecture.  The roof curves like a manta ray on the outside, while the ceiling inside resembles the belly of a whale.  First sight of the empty pool is breath-taking.  The blue water looks so inviting and calming, as if it has just appeared on earth from nowhere, an immaculate conception.  Everyone is in a high state of excitement and we greet team mates and friends and coaches, all whirling around in a daze. There’s a host of Out to Swim members in bright blue GLLAM tee shirts fluttering decoratively around preparing to be volunteers. For various reasons they are not swimming today but making sure the event runs smoothly.

Time to concentrate however and after settling my friends in the spectator gallery I have to find the changing rooms and get organised.  I’m planning to nip up and join them in between races and so leave them with my printed out start sheets.  I’m off to warm up as the 200 metres freestyle is the first event and I’m in heat 3.  The pool has been divided in two with a boom reducing it to 25 metres.  Somehow it looks short, but that’s because it’s 10 lanes wide.  The remainder of the pool is available for warm ups and swim downs during the event.  The water is delicious, not chlorine clogged or over-heated and my first 6 lengths, which are normally a struggle, go smoothly so that 300 m are soon over.  Better do some backstroke – all the fast guys from club lanes 1 & 2 are getting in this lane. Well, they will just have to wait.  Team mate Lucille recommends a few HVO’s so that’s next on the agenda – starting off fast for 10 M then relaxing.  By now lanes zero and 1 are designated for sprinting, so it’s time to get the measure of the starting blocks.  They have that little raised ledge which gives me a nice little push from the back leg – lovely.

I’m now aware of how many people are actually here.  Poolside is buzzing and the spectator stand looking down on our 25 metres of pool is crowded.  There are swimmers from all over the world: Barcelona, Brussels, Switzerland, Canada and Australia.

Northern Wave has come down from Manchester to join in and London clubs, Spencer, Y Swim and Otter are here in force.  Maidenhead has sent some particularly fast older swimmers to give us a run for our money and the georgeous youngsters from University (LUST) are fast and decorative.

Jean (Stephen’s Mum) Is doing the announcements again and now with a fantastic PA system, can be heard in her full glory.  We prepare to welcome the officials but there’s a glitch as the traditional ‘Chariots of Fire’ music is briefly interrupted by a pool announcement.  The specially trained volunteer time keepers process in as do the lane judges – including Coach Hillary – there to make sure our turns are legal.  Today they are working double time as they each have to watch two lanes.

Heat one of the 200 m freestyle is called, but only two swimmers turn up.  Heat two is better attended and we have to be patient as new competitors are unfamiliar with protocol – what the various whistles mean and waiting in the pool while the next heat starts.  It’s a learning curve and that’s what today is all about.  By the time we get to my heat, comprised of older, seasoned competitors, the pace picks up accelerating with each heat as the swimmers get (in the main) younger and faster.  Everyone complains about the 200m freestyle and yet we’ve entered.  A few wise ones have dropped out as it is a punishing distance.  Not long enough to be settled into, it’s a sort of long sprint.  I’m determined not to go out too fast, but to make things more interesting I’ve got Peppe doing butterfly in the next lane.  His entered time is only slightly faster than mine, so I let him go ahead to avoid being splashed, then attempt to catch him up on the last length.  I almost do it, but not quite.  Now, my normal routine would be to do a swim down then go up to watch other races, but everything is happening so fast that there’s no time to go up to the stand and besides the heat sheet which I printed off some days ago has changed and I’ve not noticed there’s an update.  Some people, who shall remain nameless, miss their races, so there’s a scramble to look at Head coach, Michelle’s up to date copy.  Michelle and Coach Martin are on poolside watching everyone swim as is Steve, who also coaches for Otter.  I’m doing the Individual Medley (one length of each stroke) which I haven’t swum since I was nineteen.  I’ve been doing some work on butterfly and my nemesis, breaststroke.  In the end it goes quite well but this might be for the last time.

Interspersed are 25 m races for the learners and ducklings.  Lessons Coach, Vicky has done amazing work teaching people to swim and passing them on to the development lanes.

This is their chance to get experience of racing and we all cheer them on enthusiastically.  Prizes can be collected once the age group results go up on the wall and Oonagh and team are sitting behind a window, crunching numbers and doing things with a computer.  Jean continues to announce, ranging around with a radio microphone telling us who is swimming in which lane and managing to interpolate impromptu interviews with competitors from all the clubs and volunteers.  Distance Coach Alex, who negotiated the deal here at the Centre is looking cool and glam, seemingly imperturbable in all the excitement

There’s a break of ten minutes between sessions – only enough time to swim-down after a relay (which hurt) before diving back into the fray for three more races and a medley relay.  I’ve elected to do Backstroke (number one stroke) but all the others are younger and faster – time for cramp to set in.  No wonder as it’s been seven races in three and a half hours.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s off to the crowded & noisy Cow pub for a beer.  I take a last look at the pool which, now deserted, has returned to tranquillity as if none of this had ever happened.  But we know it did and our bodies are telling us it did.